In My Mind
by Aslan's Princess
Summary: Hiccup Haddock, a broken opera performer, has been receiving lessons from a mysterious phantom. Only tonight, he discovers something new about his mysterious tutor. Crossover with a dash of "Phantom of the Opera."


Quick note: **Bold ~ Hiccup singing** , _Italics ~ Elsa singing_ , **_Bolded Italics ~ both singing_**

A weary sigh escaped his lips as the twenty-year-old man slipped into his private dressing room, absently patting his dog's head in greeting. How long had it been since he hadn't seen disappointment in the eyes of his guardians, Kristoff and Anna Bjorgman, or his friend, Jack? Too long. But what was he supposed to do?

Picking up a golden locket that filled the palm of his hand, he opened it to see his parents' faces. Valka Haddock had been a well-known opera singer and performer. She had died when he was eight-years-old. Stoick Haddock wasn't a performer, but he had encouraged his only child to pursue and hone his natural talent. He had died five years ago.

The young man closed the locket, his fingers barely making out the three H's engraved on it. Some claimed that loss made the singer's voice more powerful, caused them to release more soul into their music. He found his tongue locked, his voice stolen in his grief. He still spoke, he still sang, but not as before. Not like when he knew his father was listening, knew both of them were remembering the woman whose love had impacted their lives more than any other. Now, he was nothing more than a choir member at best, or one of the characters who said little or nothing at worst.

"I'm sorry, Mom, Dad," he said. "I'm a disappointment to you."

He turned away to free himself of the costume and dress in the evening clothes of a "proper gentleman." How many times had he heard that from the lips of Mr. Hofferson before he handed off his daughter to an arranged marriage? He and Astrid had loved each other, but her father saw only a lowly performer, a scandal waiting to happen, dishonor on the esteemed Hofferson name. So, she had been married to his cousin, a respectable businessman who wanted nothing more than the Hofferson fortune to supplement the Jorgenson wealth.

He shook his head as he straightened his crimson vest before fastening its gold-tone buttons. He was meeting with friends tonight. Jack and his fiancee, Rapunzel, and an old friend from childhood, Merida. He released a sad smile. Might there still be hope for him? Might he still find love. He once again shook his head to clear it. No. He should know better than to let his heart roam free. If it cracked anymore, he wasn't sure if he would survive.

As he turned for his coat, he caught sight of the full-length mirror fastened to the wall. It had been oddly quiet this evening. His friends thought him mad, that grief had stolen his senses. But he knew he was still of a sound mind. He wasn't a dull, slow, dim-witted idiot. Part of what assured him was his black labradoodle (a lame stray that had been abandoned for its lack of perfection). The dog had first alerted him to the presence before it even spoke, growling at the potential threat. But as the voice returned again and again, Night had grown accustomed to the presence, only giving a friendly yap if it didn't make its presence known after a time.

Something, or rather some _one_ spoke to him from that mirror. She gave him voice lessons he participated in, only half-heartedly to be honest. She spoke encouraging words to him. She was a comforting presence. Perhaps even more for he could have sworn that he had seen a shadowy figure in the depths of the reflective surface on occasion, as though the mirror wasn't complete.

He had a few minutes. He needn't stuff himself into a formal jacket just yet. His dress sleeves billowed slightly as he approached the mirror, laying his hand lightly on the glass. "Angel? Are you there?" Nothing. "I-I haven't heard your voice since yesterday." He sighed, bowing his head. He may not be mad, but he was apparently desperate, begging a mysterious phantom to speak to him.

An involuntary shudder rippled down his spine. He had heard the rumors, knew the legends. A cold, melodious phantom haunted this opera house. She was never seen, but she left frost in her wake. The frost then melted, creating hazards that led to injuries. She was said to freeze the heart of her worst enemies, leaving them to die a slow, cold, agonizing death as they turned into perfect sculptures.

It wasn't the first time he had wondered if his melodious angel and this dangerous phantom were one and the same. But somehow he couldn't believe it. Surely there was something that didn't add up. The woman who spoke to him couldn't be the same twisted, spiteful ghost that haunted the opera house. He could recognize pain and loneliness in her voice. And, she was apparently absent tonight.

He turned away, starting once again for the jacket on the opposite side of the room. He'd hardly taken three steps when he heard, "Hiccup Haddock." It was her.

He twisted round, starting at the sight of the mirror swinging forward into the room. Night yelped. Veiled in shadows, the woman stood beyond the mirror in a dim corridor. What little light did reach her twinkled across her flowing, pale blue gown.

"Come with me, Hiccup," she said, her voice soft and cool as always.

"Come where, Angel?" he asked, uncertain. He heard Night whining and half-barking. It half-brought to his attention someone at the door, trying to get in. Was that Jack? He sounded worried.

"You shall see when you follow," she answered, pulling his focus back. She extended her slender, pale arm to him, her fingers extended, yet relaxed in invitation.

He almost refused, thinking of his friends, but then he caught sight of her eyes. Two luminous, ice blue orbs, so similar to his beloved Astrid's, though not quite the same. But the similarity was just enough to draw him in.

"Come, my Angel of Music," she softly crooned. How many times had that voice softly drifted into his wakeful dreams? Those moments when one could scarcely tell reality from dream. Perhaps . . . this was another of those dreams?

His hand found hers, mildly surprised to find it so chilled, making his skin feel as though it burned in comparison. As she led him into the unknown, he faintly caught the strains of some mysterious music wafting from a distant place far ahead of them. As the mirror closed, trapping him in this venture, words began to swell within him. Then, they trickled out into a quiet song.

" **In sleep she sang to me, in dreams she came.** "

As they continued down a narrow corridor, she eventually released his hand, picking up a lantern and continued leading the way. Still the words flowed, gradually growing in strength.

" **That voice which calls to me, and speaks my name.** "

He followed her down twisting, narrow, stone stairs that hugged the wall, going ever deeper into the depths of the opera house, even beyond and into the ground. Yet, his eyes never truly left the figure that glided before him, whose flowing gown floated about her like wind made temporal. This spirit-like vision in literally earthy surroundings felt too surreal. Chills ran through him as his thoughts found voice in song.

" **And do I dream again? For now I find, the Phantom of the Opera is there, inside my mind.** "

The mystery and wonder of the tunnels stole over him as they continued their mysterious journey. Strange statues and ornate torch sconces appeared at intervals along the wall. Gothic arches supported the great layers of earth and stone above them. Only the distant music, growing gradually louder and their footsteps on stone and loose gravel broke the silence. A heady aroma started to circle round him, weaving itself upon his mind, making the air a little heavier. He briefly touched his forehead as dizziness caught him for a second. Yet, while his head felt light, his body seemed heavier.

At the base of the stairs, they entered a hall-like grotto with a wrought iron grate just vaguely visible in the dim light. The walls shimmered like captured frost as little gems hung from the arches. What was this place? Where was she taking him? All questions and thoughts vanished as she started to sing.

" _Sing once again with me, our strange duet._ "

She half-turned, extending a hand back toward him. A tendril of frost wafted from her fingers, twirling and spinning as though on a wind. Forming a hand, the frost ran its fingers through his auburn hair and caressed his face, tracing his jawline from his ear to his chin. So enchanting was its touch, he half-turned in order to follow its caress, even as it continued on behind. Even as this mysterious frost first touched him, his angel's words still danced through the air.

" _My power over you grows stronger yet._ "

He paused as his gaze went beyond the dissipating frost to the long staircase and the short length of tunnel they had already traveled. There was no sign of any other living creature. Not even Night was following them. Where was he being led? Would he be found if he didn't return? Though they were legitimate concerns, the presence of his angel seemed to wash them all away.

" _And though you turn from me to glance behind–_ "

She caught his hand again, her cool touch urging him to turn back around as she drew him ever onward on their journey. He couldn't resist her, felt no need to, as though she had cast a spell upon him.

"– _the Phantom of the Opera is there, inside your mind._ "

As they continued past the mysteriously shimmering walls, he pondered why this woman who sang like an angel hid away in the depths of the earth. Partially hid her face behind a glittering, shimmering half-mask. Gradually, a strange realization crept over him, even as his mind felt more lightheaded than earlier.

" **Those who have seen your face, draw back in fear.** "

How could he have missed it? All the tales of horror. What if it wasn't because she was cruel, but she was misunderstood? Accidents? But people feared her. What if they feared her because they couldn't understand her? If so, the lessons she provided, her encouragements. She wished to share her work with others, but she couldn't do it herself. She needed someone else to relay her gift to the world. She had chosen him as her vessel, her shield from the world.

" **I am the mask you wear.** "

Her smile on pale lips was sad yet relieved that he understood. She nodded as she sang the confirmation.

" _It's me they hear._ "

The understanding clear, their voices joined together, in sync for the first time in their acquaintance.

" _My_ / **Your** **_spirit and_** _your_ / **my** **_voice in one combine. The Phantom of the Opera is there inside_** _your/_ **my** ** _mind._** "

His head started to swim as they reached the raising portcullis. As they passed under it and entered another room, he swayed on his feet. How was it he felt so light and yet so heavy all at once? His mind was now in a light-headed, dizzying fog, but his body felt as though it was fighting gravity. What was happening to him? He heard distant voices. He wasn't sure if they were real or some fearful fantasies.

"She's there, the Phantom of the Opera! Beware, the Phantom of the Opera!"

She released his hand, leaving him in the center of a vast cavernous room, surrounded by finery. Tapestries, silks, rich woods, the finest theatrical planning sets. From some hidden place, the music he had heard since the beginning soared about the cavern. Hundreds of candles sent their light flickering across icy human sculptures. Their frozen features shimmered eerily in the dancing flames. Had theirs been the voices he heard? His attention was drawn back to his angel as she sang once again.

" _In all your fantasies, you always knew that maid and mystery–_ "

Snow and frost started to swirl round him as he completed her words.

" **Were both in you.** "

She was circling him, sparkling frost floating from her fingers, yet he held no fear. A distant part of him screamed he should be afraid. But in the fog of his mind, he could barely hear it. He only knew that his eyes needed to see her. He must know what she wished of him. What spell had she worked on him to put him in such a state? Even Astrid had never affected him like this.

" ** _And in this labyrinth, where night is blind, the Phantom of the Opera is there inside_** _your_ / **my** ** _mind._** "

He slowly spun as he watched her, the wind and snow swirling around him seeming to hold him up as the air became increasingly heavy and hard to breathe. Yet he again opened his mouth to sing.

" **She's there, the Phantom of the Opera!** "

Then, a clear, rich baritone filled the air, like nothing he had ever heard in years. He couldn't believe its source until he touched his throat and felt his vocal chords vibrating beneath his fingertips. He hadn't sung like this for five years, not since before his father's murder.

" _Sing, my angel of music._ "

Her voice urged him on. His mouth opened, old breathing habits took control as he strove to give her his best.

" _Sing for me._ "

As his tones rose higher, he felt his arms slightly rise as though he were on stage performing. He half spun as his heart started to be unbound from five years of pain and grief.

" _Sing, my angel of music!_ "

He poured his heart and soul out through his voice. Never had he sung like this. Never had he reached such heights, such rich tones, even when his father still lived.

" _SING FOR ME!_ "

Even as darkness edged over his vision, even as he felt his knees go weak, he released his highest, clearest tone.

Then, he was falling, his legs folding beneath him. Strong, feminine arms caught him from behind, easing him to the ground. He could hardly breathe as some heady incense permeated the air, pressing against his chest. He looked up with glazed, bleary, green eyes at the woman who now cradled him on her lap. He had no more strength to move, only the power to gaze at her, and even that was gradually fading against whatever spell she had cast upon him.

Her chilled fingers combed through his thick hair, nearly stealing what little breath he could still draw through his lips. Pale blonde hair, almost white, tumbled over her shoulder as she looked down at him.

" _I have brought you to the seat of sweet music's throne. To this kingdom where all must pay homage to music._ "

Her voice, that mere moments ago had been strong and echoing about the cavern, was now low and reverent. Wonder and passion shone in her blue eyes and cried out in her whisper, "Music." Her face, momentarily drawn to the cavern around her, turned to him again.

He fought the weakness settling over him. Fought to remain conscious, even as her eyes gazed into his very soul. A shiver glanced down his spine as her cool fingers twined through his damp locks. What was it about this apparition that stole his will to resist? That coaxed music out of him like no other could?

Her clear voice continued.

" _You have come here for one purpose, and one alone. Since the moment I first heard you sing, I have needed you with me, to serve me._ "

She trailed her fingers down his face til she held his jaw with her fingertips.

" _To sing for my music._ "

His eyelids were too heavy now. He drifted into darkness. The last sensation he experienced before being drawn into sweet oblivion was a soft, chilling kiss upon his temple. Then, he knew no more.

* * *

 **Author's Note** : And there is possibly the only _Phantom of the Opera_ related fanfic you may ever see on my profile. Largely inspired by Starwarrior4ever's Hiccelsa art on Deviantart and the featured song. Now, I personally don't mind Hiccelsa but I'm not big on Phantom/Erik. I just personally didn't get a great first impression of the story and so I don't think I'll ever like it or really understand why people enjoy it so much and/or seem to love the Phantom. (I personally see him as a cross between Quasimodo and Frollo. Quasimodo's appearance but Frollo's creepiness. shudder)

A special thank you to Starwarrior4ever who gave me permission to use their artwork as this story's cover.

Now, I give you free permission to continue/frame a story around this if you wish. I just ask that you let me know because I'm curious to see what you have in mind and how you interpret what's happening here.

I will say that the fragrance/incense that made Hiccup pass out is a special concoction that over time won't affect a person, so if he's down there long enough (like Elsa) he will come to be immune to it's dizzying/sleep inducing affects. If I was actually into the _Phantom of the Opera_ , I would have this as a Merida vs. Elsa kind of spin. So you can take this whole scene as a "Elsa is desperately in love with Hiccup and wishes him to understand her and help share her musical gift to the world" or as a "Elsa is a dangerous villain who manipulates people and freezes those who refuse her." There are possibly a few other possible ways to take it, but there you have it.

Hope you enjoyed. Please tell me what you thought.


End file.
